


A Journey of a Thousand Miles

by scruffandyarn



Series: In Your Eyes [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coping, F/M, Muteness, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scruffandyarn/pseuds/scruffandyarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Journey of a Thousand Miles

Sam and Bobby had patched you up as best they could, through stitching and bandages and one tooth yanking that you passed out from.  You were surprised that you were actually starting to heal--physically, anyway.  You still hadn’t spoken since before you’d been rescued.  Nightmares continued to plague your sleep, and flashbacks kept you on edge throughout the day.  And you still couldn’t stand to be anywhere near Dean.

Sam had shown you news clips of leviathans posing as him and his brother, committing all sorts of crimes.  He showed you the article about the “deaths” of the Winchester fugitives.  He reasoned that you were so terrified of Dean was because his leviathan look-alike had been the one to hold you hostage.

Your brain tried to wrap around this new knowledge.  You tried to reason with yourself that it wasn’t actually Dean who’d put you through so much pain and suffering.  But it was still those damned green eyes taunting you as you woke up with silent tears streaming down your face, night after night.

       


*****  
** **

****  
** **

“______, Bobby and I are making a supply run.  Can we get you anything?”  Sam poked his head into the room you’d occupied in Bobby’s house since you’d been rescued.  

You looked up from the book lying on the bed next to you, the one you’d been staring at blankly, and shook your head.  You couldn’t think of anything you wanted or needed, and even if you had, you weren’t speaking.  It wasn’t out of rudeness--it was out of self-preservation.  Your sounds had only encouraged your captor to hurt you even more.  You weren’t about to open your mouth, just in case.

“OK.  Um--Dean, he’s going to be here.  But he won’t come in here.  Alright?”  You didn’t respond.  “If you need me, just send me a text.”  You gave a small nod.  He looked like he wanted so say more, but he just nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

You were hefting yourself up onto your feet as soon as the door was shut.  You hobbled over to the door and quickly turned the lock.  He must have heard you, because you could hear him sighing a moment later from the other side of the door.

       


*****  
** **

****  
** **

“Dean?  What’s wrong?”  Sam and Bobby had rushed back from their supply run when Dean sent them an SOS text message.  They found him leaning against the wall, just outside the bathroom door, his hands clenched in fists and his eyes were slightly swollen, his face still faintly tear streaked.

“______.” His voice was rough.  “I was coming through to get lunch just as she was headed for the bathroom.  I-I think she might have moved too quickly, because there was blood running down her leg through her stitches.  Figured one of you might need to make sure she’s alright.”  Sam nodded solemnly.  “I’ll be--yeah.”  Dean brushed past them on his way to the kitchen.

“You handle her?  I’ll handle the idjit?”  Bobby asked Sam.  Sam nodded again and Bobby turned to follow after Dean.

       


******* **

****  
** **

“Alright, son.  Talk.”  Bobby folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against the kitchen entryway.

“About what?”  Dean snapped, slamming the plate holding his sandwich down on the table.  “About how my girlfriend is scared shitless of me?  About how she tried to run to the bathroom and ended up hurting herself trying to get away from me?  About how I’m the monster she sees whenever she closes her eyes at night?  What the hell do you want me to say about it?”

“I wanna know what you’re planning on doing about it.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“So, what?  You’re just going to spend the rest of your lives avoiding each other?  Dean, she has no where else to go.  Not that I mind having her here, but you aren’t just dumping her with me to go off and never come back.”

“She can’t even look at me, Bobby, without looking like she’s just seen her worst nightmare.  What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Have you tried talking to her?”  Dean opened his mouth to object, but Bobby held up his hand.  “I know I’m old, but even I know about text messaging.  Or, you could do it the way we elderly folks used to, and write her a letter or something.”

“Bobby--”

“All I’m saying is, what have you got to lose?  A little time and energy?  You’ve spent more on less worthy causes, Dean.  I know you love the girl--you wouldn’t be this upset over her reaction to you if you didn’t.”  Bobby sighed.  “You have two choices here--either she’s worth it to you to do whatever it takes, or we find some place to take her that won’t scar her anymore than she already is.”

****  
** **

******* **

****  
** **

The slight knocking on your door jarred you out of the haze you'd been in ever since Sam had redone your stitches after you'd ripped part of them in your rush to get away from Dean.  You hadn’t been sleeping, just kind of staring off into space, something you did fairly regularly, these days.  Those were the times you’d gotten the closest thing to rest since your ordeal.  

You glared at the door--whoever was on the other side had to know you weren’t going to say anything--only to find a folded piece of paper on the floor just in front of the door.  Warily, you pushed yourself up from the bed and hobbled over to the door.  Enough of you fingers still wore a splint that you had to try three times before you were actually able to get hold of the paper.  Slowly, you unfolded it.

****  
** **

_______,_

_I know you don’t want to see me or talk to me right now.  That’s OK.  I get it.  But I just want you to know that I am still here for you.  Even if you can’t look at me, I still care about you._

_Do you remember our first hunt together?  And how I ended up covered in ectoplasm.  And how you couldn’t stop laughing for the longest time.  For days you kept teasing me about it--one day, we’ll get back to that.  One day, you’ll be able to look at me again and be happy._

_Until then, I will wait.  As long as it takes, I will wait._

_Dean_

****  
** **

The whimper that you released seemed to echo in the quiet of your room.  You pressed your lips together, waiting, but nothing happened.  No pain, no torture, no sadistic grin, no cruel stare.  

You didn’t suddenly want to go off and find Dean and throw yourself into his arms.  You weren’t magically all better, ready to overlook everything that you’d been through.  Life didn’t work like that.  This letter wasn’t going to fix you and make you whole.  

But it was a step in the right direction.


End file.
